250

Photobooth on my birthday this year

Friends, I am going to let you in on a top secret marriage tip. Though in the interest of full disclosure I feel I must qualify that my research is purely of the anecdotal variety and based only on my own experience, I'm pretty sure this one is going to blow your mind. Are you ready? Here it is.

Spending time living in the same place as your spouse will make your marriage better.*

Mind blown, am I right? I mean, who knew that spending time together could actually strengthen our relationship? Obviously I knew that I was happier when we were together, and it seemed like that was probably true for him as well, but somehow I did not make the cognitive leap that we would also grow closer than ever and better attuned to each other's needs. Weird.

Over the course of the almost 7 years we've been together, CM and I have spent an awful lot of time apart, sometimes as much as 6 months out of the year. We spent 165 days together in 2010, 200 in 2011, 183 in 2012, and 186 in 2013. It was after that all-time high in 2011 that I ambitiously added #85 to the Bossy List: Spend at least 250 days with CM in a calendar year.

Well, I am ecstatic to report that, as of November 8, 2014, I can now cross this item off the list. Better yet, we have no plans to be apart for the remainder of 2014, so we are definitely going to top 300 this year. That's completely unheard of, and it's a direct result of some hard choices we made that are paying off in spades.

85. Spend at least 250 days with CM in a calendar year.


*This is only true if you really like your spouse, I should probably mention. If not, it could have the opposite effect.

Bossy List. Is that still a thing?

Way back when in 2008, inspired by Maggie Mason's Mighty Life List, I started the Bossy List, 100 things I wanted to accomplish in the next 10 years. Over time I edited it and tweaked it and slowly (oh so slowly) actually crossed some things off the list. It's long overdue for a another tune-up, but in the meantime let me tell you about an item I crossed off this month.

February 1, fresh off my first Runner's World Run Streak followed immediately by a successful Whole 30, I was as lean and fit as I've ever been and ready to take on a new challenge, so I ran my first half-marathon. At the end of it I felt highly accomplished and simultaneously wanted to die. The next day we flew to Berlin for a week, I did not pass a pastry without cramming it into my mouth, then I was working, then I got SHINGLES (true story), and eventually I fell off the running/health wagon altogether. So what did we do? We signed up for another half marathon. For motivation! In September—so far away! So much time to train!

And we did train. We ran in hot and humid Houston, we ran in chilly and hilly San Francisco, we did another Runner's World Run Streak and even ran every day on a week-long cross-country road trip. And pretty much every long run went horribly for me. Many of them ended in tears (CM is a saint, yes I know). I knew the half marathon would be a disaster. But I kept running. Why, you ask?

Because before and after the race we would be spending the night in a castle. An actual CASTLE.

So we trained. And I ran the race. It wasn't a disaster, exactly, but it was about 6 miles longer than I wanted it to be, and I'm certainly not feeling the urge to run for 2 1/2 hours again anytime soon.

But back to the castle. It was schmancy and lovely and pretty much exactly how you'd hope it would be. But ultimately, maybe not totally our thing, as we're already contemplating a return trip to the area (the Wachau) and will probably stay somewhere more simple and cozy. But first!

88. Spend a night in a castle.

Some pictures from our weekend (some by me, some by CM—you'll be able to tell the difference):

So! Many! Runners!

Atmospheric panoramic from the starting line

BEFORE: smiling, cold

AFTER: smiling, NOT cold

Reward

Our castle room

View from our room

Spa area in the basement of the hotel. Guess who forgot her bathing suit? Sad trombone.
Luckily, there was also a sauna. And we were in Europe. No suit? No problem.

Scenic Dürnstein & the Danube

View from Dürnstein at sunset

The road Google Maps sent us down in our rental car that dead-ended at the bike path, which meant we had to turn around and drive back up through the pedestrians. Haha, Google Maps, you're hilarious.

Bossy List remix

My birthday is coming up next week, and as ever I'm taking stock and making plans for the year ahead. I took this opportunity to revisit my somewhat neglected Bossy List, and I'm making a few changes.

Coming off the list:

4. Own a Vespa. Start a scooter gang.
It's not that I don't want to do this. I REALLY do. We know 2 people who were in recent scooter accidents in Houston, though, and general consensus in the Bossy-Melear household seems to be that scooting in this city is just too dangerous. So I'm taking it off the list (and tabling it for when we retire to Italy a few decades from now.)


65. Walk a red carpet.
In April we flew up to New York for one night to see opening night of Evita on Broadway. We were guests of the director, which sounds impossibly glamorous, and honestly, it pretty much was (not least because we randomly got upgraded to the penthouse suite at the Royalton, but I digress). There was a red carpet, and we got to flash our tickets and breeze past the dozens of fans lined up behind a barrier. We didn't walk the red carpet ourselves (because we're not celebrities), but we were red carpet adjacent, standing right next to the photographers and watching honest-to-goodness famous people arriving and posing. And you know what? That's as close as I ever need to get to walking a red carpet. Off the list!


81. Learn to schmooze for real.
While this remains a goal of course, it's one of those hard to quantify items I'll probably never be able to cross off with confidence. Tangible list items only, I think.


85. Ride a mechanical bull.
Off the list. Why? Because I'm over 30, that's why.


97. Eat a meal at the French Laundry.
So many great restaurants in the world, some of them actually in cities where I spend time. I'm making this goal more achievable.



Replaced by:


4. Complete a year-long Happiness Project.

I'm contemplating starting it on my birthday. We shall see....

65. Fly International Business Class. Preferably on an airline with flatbed seats.

That's the dream.

81. Christmas in Vienna

I missed the Christmas markets entirely the year we lived there. No one does Christmas better than Vienna. Let's go back and do it properly!


85. Spend at least 250 days with CM in a calendar year.
At LEAST.


97. Tasting menu with wine pairings somewhere schmancy.
Per Se, perhaps?



How's your list?

How I spent 20 hours last week

copyright Wilfried Hösl

I'm writing this from Bayreuth, aka Wagnerville, which seems like the right place to tell you all about my Adventures in Wagner last week. CameraMan and I saw our very first Ring cycle! We saw the new production in Munich, which you can read more about (and see pictures!) here.

I have to admit, while I was excited to see the Ring, I was definitely excited AND scared. Whenever anyone heard we were going, most of their advice centered around things like taking enough naps and drinking plenty of coffee. I was worried about being tired and fidgety, about getting sleepy, and most of all about whether I would need to pee (Rheingold is 2 1/2 hours without intermission, and the first act of Götterdämmerung is almost as long). I was also worried I wouldn't know what was going on (no English surtitles in Germany, unfortunately). CM, of course, was studious and dutifully prepared by watching videos and reading the librettos. I, on the other hand, got to the end of Walküre and realized I had absolutely no idea what happened next. I was cramming synopses before every act.


I needn't have worried. I had the best time! The production, while not always to my taste, was never boring, and the music is just sublime. The casts were top-notch (hearing Nina Stemme as Brünnhilde would surely turn anyone into a Wagner fan), and the energy in the audience was unlike any I've experienced. CM had to cough at one point, and he realized that NOBODY in the house had been coughing. I don't know if you've been to the opera lately, but it often sounds like you're in a tuberculosis ward. Everyone was paying rapt attention, and the reactions were strong and immediate (maybe one of my favorite moments was when a particular bit of staging was booed by some audience members, and then others tried to drown them out with bravos—I thought there might be a rumble).


We saw friends who were in town for the Ring (including one onstage), threw in a Cenerentola and a recital for good measure, snuck across the street to Zum Franziskaner for beer and pretzels during second intermissions, and even made it to a couple museums (go here if you're ever in Munich, it's amazing). All in all, a great week.

copyright Wilfried Hösl

56. See the whole Ring cycle.


Can't wait for the next one!

The one that got away

Four days ago I spent 40 minutes hanging out in a pool with a dolphin named Olympia. I petted her slick rubbery skin. I waved at her and she waved back. She kissed me on the cheek and I kissed her on the mouth—that's just how I roll.

We danced and then I grabbed her fins and she took me for a ride and I could feel her slippery smooth belly underneath me as the salt water splashed into my eyes. When we said goodbye she dove under the water and waved her tail at me.

It was exactly how awesome I thought it would be. That never happens.

9. Swim with dolphins.

#12. Check.

I do not like crowds, so I do my best to avoid them. When forced to be in a large group of people, I am overly fond of mumbling "I hate people" under my breath and not making eye contact. I would rather eat glass than be in Times Square on New Year's Eve. Or any other day, for that matter.

Also, I don't like being uncomfortable. I get cold easily, and I don't like being cold. Or being hot. Or getting wet.

And yet.

Saturday morning at 8:00 when the starter pistol fired at my very first 5K race, as I surged forward in the humid mist, surrounded by several thousand other runners in close proximity, I felt exhilarated more than anything.  CM was at my side (Legs McGee sprinted on ahead—she is speedy), and even though I was nervous I knew I was ready. So we ran the race, and finished it. I had only one near-meltdown close to the finish line (note to self: look at the course before the race so you know what to expect). My time was a respectable 30:11. And even though the weather was turning me into a sweaty mess (see below), and the fast people were pushing by me, and the slow(er) people were getting in my way, I enjoyed myself. Enough to want to do it again, even. So this morning CM and I started training to run 10K, something I could not have imagined only a couple months ago.

I will say, though, that even without that race-inspired adrenaline rush, for my money there is no better way to run than just the two of us, on our neighborhood path, on a crisp 60° morning.

I think I'll keep doing that.

12. Run a race. Finish it.

Paris: The Swag

Paris wasn't all decadent meals, and bike rides along the Seine, and me taking pictures of CM taking pictures. We also did a wee bit of shopping. We could have done so much more, but we managed to restrain ourselves. Sort of.

As a tourist, you might not stumble upon BHV (which stands for Bazar de l'Hôtel de Ville), but I encourage you to reserve at least an hour for this massive department store. We wandered through like starving people at a buffet—there is just nothing remotely like this in Vienna. There are departments for just about anything you can thing of, ranging from automotive to bedding to jewelry. We bought up such myriad items as crafting supplies, a bunch of these prints for our kitchen (don't you love them?), a wedding guestbook, and I picked up some honeymoon lingerie (ahem). We couldn't stay too long without getting overwhelmed, but it was glorious while it lasted.

I long to look like a French girl, so I picked up an adorable blue and white striped summer dress and Les Tropeziennes sneakers. It's a start...

While wandering through Le Marais, we found this shop/gallery, which sells original art in small sizes. We bought the sweetest little painting. I can't wait to find a place for it.

And now for la pièce de resistance (aka The Most Ridiculous Souvenir Ever):

We must have walked by the window of Pylones (one of my favorite shops in Paris, but there are actually a few in NYC, too) a dozen times and seen this Eiffel Tower Nespresso pod holder. We started out joking about it, and then slowly the joking turned into reality, and on our last day we walked in and bought it. It came in an enormous box which we had to carry onto the plane back home. I can only imagine what the Security personnel thought as it went through the x-ray. I have to say, I know it's silly and beyond tacky, but it puts a smile on my face pretty much every time I walk into the kitchen.


Arguably the best things we bought in Paris were a tiny lock and a permanent marker, to continue our tradition. We added ours to a vast collection just across the river from Nôtre-Dame. I hope we do this all our lives.

Photo by CameraMan

And a close-up by me

I think it's safe to make this official:

44. Go to Paris with CameraMan.

Bossy Book Club

Since the show opened, I've had far more of this lovely thing called time. Also energy. I've been experimenting with various ways of using up said time and energy, and what's been appealing to me the most lately has been reading, preferably while eating soup. (One advantage a Kindle has over a regular book is that soup can very easily be cleaned off the screen. I'm not even joking.) I've read a few books recently that I have adored, and I thought you might like to know about them so that you can read them, too.

Just Kids by Patti Smith
I'll be honest with you, I wasn't completely clear on who Patti Smith was when I started reading this book. I had a hazy "rock legend" impression of her, and a quick perusal of her Wikipedia site revealed that I had actually heard some of her songs, but I wasn't driven to read her book because of a great love of her music or anything. A friend I trust recommended the book, so I bought it. And just loved it. I was inspired by how generous Smith was to the people she wrote about, and so forgiving to all who have crossed her path. She's also a simply beautiful writer. Read this, I think you'll be inspired, too. Also, here is a picture of her at Comte Ory opening. How cool is that?

Spousonomics by Paula Szuchman and Jenny Anderson
This book sounds like it's going to be dry and boring; it's all about using economics theories to improve every aspect of your marriage. It turned out to be completely engaging, fascinating, and most of all, funny. Also, we (CM read it too) learned things that will have actual practical applications in our marriage, like how to divide household chores, and how to, er, keep the passion alive, if you know what I mean. You can also learn lots on the Spousonomics blog.

Blood, Bones & Butter: The Inadvertent Education of a Reluctant Chef by Gabrielle Hamilton
Oh, I love memoirs. I will probably never write one, due to my happy, uneventful childhood and subsequent happy, uneventful adulthood (also because I have a terrible memory and never kept a journal), but reading them gives me great joy. And this is one of the best memoirs I have ever read. The storytelling is gripping and the pacing is impeccable. I want to visit the author's restaurant, but mostly I just want to be best friends with her. (Gabrielle, call me.)

What books have you enjoyed lately? I'm always taking suggestions.

Incidentally, I think I can cross off a list item!

89. Get in the habit of reading non-fiction.

From the desk of Legs McGee

A few months ago, I crossed #15 off my list: Successfully teach someone to drive a stick shift. I wasn't ready to write about it, though, until I was sure I truly was successful. Thankfully, my friend Legs McGee wrote me a little testimonial so I could safely check this one off.

In her own words:
For most of my adult life I have chosen to associate the word clutch only with women's fashion. Who wouldn't?! Happy images of dancing strapless handbags are infinitely better than their automotive counterpart.  Thinking of clutch in THAT context might lead to words such as stick, shift and the inevitable Transmission...a vocabulary that translates into inadequacy and shortcoming for the solely Automatic driver---aka ME!  It's a weakness I have long suppressed in shame, but I've always known it would eventually rear its ugly head and war would be waged.

As it turns out, the perfect comrade for said battle was found in my pedicure partner, fellow yogini, and tennis trainer: LMB.  Two lessons, approximately 45 minutes each, and I was well on my way to conquering a lingering fear of adulthood.  With supreme patience she guided me through the multi-tasking maze of gas, clutch, and gear shift---graciously refraining from counting the number of panicked stalls that occurred in the process.  (There was one particular left turn across traffic that I'm sure she'll always think on fondly).  Lesson #2 introduced the concept of Reverse, and that school parking lot probably still doesn't know what hit it.  Along with teaching me how to drive, LMB also enabled me to travel through time.  Yes, she's that talented.  For two glorious sessions I was 15 again, and equally ecstatic learning to drive this time around.

THE TEST:  A little over a week after my Driver's Ed course, I arrived in Moscow---the motivation behind my rapid education.  My second day in the city I was given an atlas, the keys to my host's MANUAL Volvo, and well wishes.  That day may have potentially been the longest of my life, but I survived my first manual trip on a freeway, severe traffic jams, and more than 2 hours of commuting with only an occasional stall or two, all courtesy of LMB.  Throughout my month with a Manual I was praising my mentor daily and it is with great pleasure that I now recommend her to you, the Internet populace.  Her List is long, but examine it carefully! LMB just might hold the key to alleviating your automotive anxiety equivalent!

 

So, what do you say, dear readers? I could use a new dose of motivation for my List—maybe we could help each other...

For now, though:

15. Successfully teach someone to drive a stick shift.

There's one of my disgusting habits gone

I can't remember when I started biting my nails, but I imagine it was right around the time I grew teeth. I was a nail biter for all of my childhood (also a precocious spotlight hog and a spoiled brat, but you knew that already, didn't you?), and the only way I was able to stop was to pick at and bite my cuticles instead, often to the point of bleeding. Lovely, I know.

I've always associated well groomed nails with an unattainable ideal of adulthood. There's something about being able to reach out your beautifully manicured right hand to be shaken that just reeks of chic and grown up. The trouble with manicures, of course, is they don't last very long, and I've never seen myself as the acrylic nails type. And home manicures are completely beyond my skill set; I can make a brave attempt on the left hand, but once I move to the right everything goes to hell. And the obvious solution, to just NOT do it anymore, has only ever been successful for a day or two at a time.

This summer I decided maybe the only thing for it, to truly break the habit, was to throw money at the problem. I invested in numerous schmancy cuticle creams (my faves are this and this), and started getting manicures every couple weeks or so. The creams help prevent hangnails and the manicures serve two purposes: to clean up my cuticles so there's very little to pick at, and to make me feel guilty when I ruin what I've just bought.

It's worked like a charm. I haven't bitten or picked in several months, and I seem to have mostly lost the compulsion to do so. It's an expensive solution, I'll grant you that, but for now it's worth it. It's nice not to feel self-conscious when I shake hands with someone new. And however irrational, looking down and seeing my beautifully manicured nails makes me feel like I may have finally reached adulthood for real.

51. Stop picking at my cuticles. It's a disgusting habit.

It's about time.

I blame Clooney

My whole life I never heard the word Nespresso, and then all of a sudden everyone was talking about it, gushing superlatives and telling us we just HAD to try it. Well, we are nothing if not susceptible to peer pressure, so we'd been chic and European (and engaged!) only about a week before we realized that what we needed to be even more chic and even more European was to BE those people talking and gushing about it. So we did a little bit of research, visited the Nespresso store, and brought home our very own machine (the CitiZ Slim in Titanium Grey, if you're wondering).

Don't know what the hell I'm talking about? Go here. Or watch this.

I am not a coffee drinker. I have always hated the taste of coffee, except in tiramisu form. The summer I was 14 I went through a brief misguided coffee-drinking period, in which (here's the peer pressure again) a girl I admired convinced me that drinking coffee was cooler. That was also the summer I became a vegetarian (that lasted 2 whole years!) and boycotted Gillette (that lasted only until I needed more shaving cream). I was not myself. Since then I have abstained completely from coffee, instead ordering hot chocolate or chai from Starbucks, relatively firm in my conviction that coffee tastes disgusting. Even though CameraMan is very much a coffee drinker, in that "can't get going in the morning without it, in fact don't even bother attempting a normal conversation with him before he's had it" kind of way,  I couldn't do it.

And then the Nespresso machine came into our home, and changed everything. A shot of freshly brewed espresso at a low Intensität, mixed with a generous pour of frothy milk and a spoonful or two of sugar, is a revelation. CM and I quickly developed our morning routine, standing together companionably in the kitchen, with him in charge of coffee and me in charge of milk…heaven. I'm working up to more intense espresso, less milk, and less sugar, but for now I could not be happier to have suddenly developed into a coffee drinker.

WienerLover had a few friends over yesterday for homemade pumpkin pie and Nespresso drinks (see, now everyone is doing it). His apartment was just about the coziest thing ever, with the smell of pie wafting through the air and the heat from the oven making us warm and toasty. And then there was my espresso with milk and sugar, which I haven't had since I left Vienna. I was suddenly blindsided by an intense wave of homesickness, for CM, for Vienna, for our life together, which we were just starting to figure out when I had to leave. I'm so ready to get back to all of it—only 2 more months to go...

On the bright side, I can now (belatedly) definitely cross this off my list:

86. Learn to like coffee.

In other news, after a lifelong aversion to mushrooms I just discovered I love them. I'm a whole new girl.

But don't get your hopes up, pickles. Your time may never come. Blech.

I fly. Frequently.

In 2010:
Houston to New York
New York to Houston
Houston to New York
New York to Houston
Houston to San Francisco
San Francisco to Santa Barbara
Santa Barbara to Los Angeles
Los Angeles to Houston
Washington DC to Houston
Albuquerque to Denver
Denver to Washington DC
Washington DC to Denver
Denver to Albuquerque
Houston to Washington DC
Washington DC to Vienna
Vienna to Zurich
Zurich to New York
New York to Zurich
Zurich to Vienna
Vienna to Frankfurt
Frankfurt to Houston

21. Get Elite status on my frequent flier miles program.

19 hours in Bratislava

Ever since I learned that there's a hydrofoil that traverses the Danube between Vienna and Bratislava, I've been talking about going, mostly because it's intriguing that a little more than an hour's boat ride away is the capital of an entirely different country. You'd be hard-pressed to travel an hour from anywhere in the States and wind up somewhere that truly felt foreign. We kept planning to go, but hadn't found the right moment.

This weekend CM was lucky enough to have an entire 2-day weekend like normal people, so we decided to head to Bratislava for dinner Saturday night. It wasn't until 20 minutes before we left that we had the idea to stay overnight, so we quickly packed a bag. When we arrived in the city, we walked into the first hotel we saw (the Radisson, not too shabby) and got a very reasonably priced room.

And herein lies the biggest thing Bratislava has going for it, besides proximity to Vienna: it's CHEAP. And they use the Euro, which is quite convenient. Sadly, word's getting out, apparently primarily to the British stag night industry. By the time we arrived around 7pm Saturday, there were already plenty of oddly-costumed British men roaming in packs, leering at the Slovakian women and shouting in the streets. These same men could be found Sunday afternoon sitting in pubs nursing their hangovers and drinking pint after pint of beer. We decided that Bratislava is the New Orleans of Eastern Europe (although a friend of ours pointed that maybe Eastern Europe is the New Orleans of Europe…food for thought).

Bachelor parties aside, though, it's a charming city, full of all those old-world details we love: winding cobble-stoned streets, airy outdoor cafés, a town square, and (of course) a hilltop castle. It also has some delicious food. I did a little internet research before we went, and decided to have dinner at the Pressburg Restaurant, which specializes in traditional Bratislavan cuisine. Fast fact—Pressburg is the German name for the city; it wasn't actually called Bratislava until 1919.

On my quest to eat a meal in every country in Europe, I'm planning to try typical dishes from each place. Sure, pizza in Prague doesn't really count, but I made up for it in Bratislava. I had Bryndzové halušky, described as "the national dish of Slovakia." It's gnocchi in a sheep cheese sauce with bacon sprinkled on the top. Ummm...YES, PLEASE. Doesn't it look delicious?



CameraMan, of course, ordered "Skewer from 3 meats on gallows." You're going to have to use your imagination on that one, at least until he posts his pictures from the trip. We also consumed a platter of Slovak cheeses (no surprise there), a bottle of Slovakian red wine, and a couple glasses of Borovička, which I highly recommend if you like the taste of burning.

It was such a short trip that we didn't get to see all that the city has to offer, but we managed to walk all through the old town, hike up to the castle, watch most of the Federer-Djokovic match, and eat 2 other meals while we were there (neither of which were nearly as good as Saturday's dinner—it pays to do a bit of research before you go). We had a lovely time, although I don't know that we'll need to go back any time soon.

Not until BACHELOR/BACHELORETTE EXTRAVAGANZA 2011, that is.

In the meantime, you can see my Bratislava photos here.

Lofty goals

I don't know if you've noticed, but I added a few new items to the Bossy List this summer, so that it's now 103 items long. And actually, now that I'm over here in Europe, the list might need to expand more. I want to cruise through the Norwegian fjords! And stay in an Ice Hotel! And climb around on Greek ruins! And gawk at celebrities in Cannes! And sing "The Hills are Alive" on the top of an Alp! And drink vodka in Moscow while wearing a furry hat! And that doesn't even include all the things I want to do right here in Vienna. Who knows, maybe I'll throw the 10-year deadline out the window and turn this thing into a Life List instead.

But for the meantime, let's continue on as if we're still aiming for April 22, 2018, shall we? I'm currently beginning to tackle #103: Eat a meal in every country in Europe. People, I don't know if you knew this, but there are 45 countries in Europe (50 by some counts, but the list I like has 45, so there.)? I've got a lot of eating to do. But I get incredibly excited just thinking about planning trips to exotic locations like Cyprus, and Portugal, and Moldova.

I've arbitrarily decided that airport meals don't count, which is too bad, since I'll be visiting 2 Swiss airports in the next 2 weeks. Oh, well. The fondue will have to wait. So far, I've eaten in 2 countries (because I'm starting now, rather than counting meals I've eaten in the past 28 years since I started traveling internationally).

Austria (obvs). Many meals have already been consumed here, but I'm choosing the one at the Wurst stand behind the Staatsoper. So delicious. In other news, since we arrived I have become mildly obsessed with mustard. You would, too.




Czech Republic. I was going to order a roast suckling pig on a spit, just so I could take an awesome picture of it and post it here, but instead our best meal in Prague ended up being Italian food. Go figure. This restaurant opened exactly 12 days before we went there. I saw it sitting majestically right on the river as we trammed it over a bridge, and I fell in love with it even before reading the brilliant reviews (and the very affordable prices). So we forewent the meat and potatoes for a night and instead sat on the deck of the restaurant, eating Italian food and watching the sun go down over Prague Castle. Not a bad way to spend an evening.



Pictures, as ever, by CameraMan

Pants on fire

I am not a frequent liar, not because I am morally opposed to lying per se, but because I don't like to spend a lot of time doing things I'm not good at. And I am not at all good at lying. I get caught up in the details and end up tying myself in knots over minutiae. Also, I have a very expressive face.

I lie so rarely, in fact, that I have almost total recall of lies I've told in the past. Like in high school when I told my parents I was going with my boyfriend to see Jurassic Park: The Lost World and instead went to his dad's law office to make out on the couch. I thought I was safe because it was a movie my parents wouldn't dream of seeing, but for some reason it came up in conversation for weeks afterward, and of course I had nothing to say about it except something vague about how it was just like the first Jurassic Park, except, you know, set in Manhattan. I ended up confessing the lie to my parents years later—they, needless to say, had completely forgotten the whole incident.

The inability to lie is generally seen as a virtue, I know, but every once in a while it would be convenient to be able to do it convincingly, if only to maintain the element of surprise. All last week I was so busy lying and thinking up more lies that I couldn't even blog. Not once. I was so full of secrets that I wouldn't have known how to write without them all spilling out.

See, CameraMan is conducting this show, and I wasn't going to be able to see it (because I am on the other side of the country), and I was just sick about it. So, I secretly begged for a release and GOT one, secretly offered up our hypothetical first-born child to United Airlines for a last-minute plane ticket, and secretly planned a trip to see his Sunday matinee and spend two whole nights with him (and the Bossy Cat, obvs). All week long I played the sad long-distance girlfriend, throwing in little extras for verisimilitude (Do you think anyone will video it so I can watch it later?). I even invented a whole rehearsal schedule and cocktail party for Saturday to cover the time I would be traveling, all the while plotting with a friend at the Trap to meet CM at Clyde's that night.

I think I did pretty well. I lied my face off all week, and he had no idea. Until about an hour before I arrived, when he called my phone 3 times and all 3 times it went straight to voicemail. He's pretty smart, that CameraMan, and he figured out the only reason my phone would do that is if I was on a plane. And he was right. So when I walked into Clyde's he wasn't as surprised as I might have hoped, but it was still a pretty great moment. I'd say the surprise was a success.

99. Fly across the country (or the world) to surprise someone.

What's so bad about lying, anyway?

Project LMB

Privately, I think of myself as kind of lazy. Not at work, of course, where I am nothing but über-productive, helpful, and quick (hello to any potential employers out there). But on my free days, I generally bear an uncanny resemblance to a slug in pajamas. I can and will happily while away an entire day reading or watching a whole TV series on DVD from beginning to end.

Which is why I was really looking forward to these few weeks, the first real time off (I do NOT count the time spent packing) I've had since I went to Paris a year ago. At various busy moments during the past few months, as I pushed projects and ideas onto the back-burner, I thought, "I will work on that when I'm on vacation in Virginia." The problem is, I now have absolutely no recollection of what any of those things were. I find myself at something of a loose end, not quite sure how to spend my days. This leads to a lovely double whammy effect, in that when CM comes home I am grumpy, and I also have nothing to contribute to conversation. Not a great combination. A full day of being horizontal on the couch might be relaxing and rejuvenating in the midst of a crazy work week—in the midst of other days spent exactly the same way, it's demoralizing and guilt-inducing. A week in, and I'm already longing for projects and to-do lists.

The trick is to not get too ambitious—we all know how that turns out. Now is probably not the time for grand self-improvement projects. I am on vacation, after all, and I would like to enjoy it. But it's funny how, with ample time (and much of it by myself), I can actually forget what I enjoy.

I decided to take a look at my Ultimate To-Do List, which has been languishing unchecked of late. First of all, I added a couple things I've been wishing were on the list, and didn't take anything off, so it's now a list of 102 things (16 down, 86 to go). I'll probably add more as I think of them—100 was an arbitrary number anyway. I need to get cracking if I'm going to finish it all by April 22, 2018.

I will definitely cross off #23 this summer. I'm going to work toward #12, #21, #24, #76, and #83, although I'm sure I won't finish them until later. And I see no reason not to cross off #26 and #36—let's do this thing.

It's easy to start thinking productively on a good day. And today was a good day, filled with happiness-improving activities. I made delicious mango smoothies for breakfast. I worked out not once but twice: once on the treadmill, and once with Jillian's latest. I had delicious sushi and girl talk on Rahree's porch. I got excited about the potential schmanciness that infused simple syrups could add to our nightly cocktail hour, and we now have 3 bottles of homemade syrups in our fridge: basil, mint, and ginger. I read several chapters of my book. I had a long gab session on the phone with the Best Friend. And tonight, there will be Vienna Inn deliciousness.

The slug in pajamas is nowhere to be found.

Cheers

42. Bring back cocktail hour.

Listomania

Recently I've been playing around a bit with my Ultimate To-Do List. It's been almost 2 years since I started the list, and it needs some tweaking. I'm replacing some items that no longer hold great interest for me, that are unquantifiably vague, or that are simply never going to happen (94. Learn to be content in a moment without thinking so much about what comes next. Ha, and while we're at it, how about Become a princess and Be reincarnated as a house cat. That'll be the day).

It seems I haven't crossed off a list item since the beginning of January, but I've actually crossed one off and not written about it!

You may recall that CameraMan gave me salsa dancing lessons for Christmas. Well, during the time I was home for Tosca, we took 7 lessons. And not just in salsa, either—we learned fox trot, tango, cha cha, swing, samba, and rumba as well. And it turned out salsa wasn't my favorite. If I had to choose, I would say tango and cha cha were the best.

I realize I'm opening myself up to some mocking by saying this, but I honestly think that taking dance lessons improved our relationship. We had to depend on each other in a totally new way, and I think the way we handled it bodes well for the future—we didn't get defensive, we didn't place blame, we didn't ever let it stop being fun. Until the end, that is, when they aggressively tried to upsell us with more lessons. We actually thought about it a lot; regardless of how prohibitively expensive it would be to keep going, we both were enjoying ourselves so much, and we had made some visible progress in our dancing. But the thing is, it's not really an applicable skill in many situations, you know? It's not often that I'm called upon to break out my best cha cha. So we stopped, but it's given us a new love for learning things together. Maybe next we'll take tennis lessons. Or a cooking class.

And then, of course, we decided to move to Vienna, so we're wishing we had learned how to waltz. You know, for all the balls we'll be attending.

Sorry, I don't have a picture of us dancing, but it pretty much looked like this:



30. Learn to salsa dance, or at least to fake it.

In the black

Dear readers, I've been holding out on you. I actually crossed off another list item on December 21 of last year, and neglected to tell you about it for fear of jinxing it. But now a couple weeks have passed, and it seems like maybe it wasn't too good to be true. So, here it is... I paid off my credit card debt. After YEARS of living beyond my means, I am turning over a brand new leaf and vowing to only spend money I have from now on.

I was unprepared for how good I would feel when I paid off the last little bit of debt. I'm a whole new girl, really, and as counter-intuitive as it is, I'm actually feeling LESS inclined to spend money now. I access my accounts on Mint several times a day, just so I can look at the Cash vs. credit card debt section and see that the number next to Debt is $0 and the number next to Cash is growing. I've opened two savings accounts. Honestly, I don't recognize myself anymore.

So, with tightly crossed fingers and held breath that I won't have to uncross this item in a few months...

67. Be debt free.

14 down, 86 to go...

Chicago, Chicago, that toddlin' town

A couple nights ago we were at dinner with a friend and he asked me how I liked Chicago. I opened my mouth to answer him, and 5 minutes later I finally took a breath. Because I liked Chicago. A lot. It felt like home, and the thing is, I knew it would, and at the same time was sure it wouldn't quite live up to my expectations. A little like Paris, which I just absolutely knew I would love love aimer, all the while being terrified that the Paris I loved was in books and movies and maybe the 1920s, and not at all in reality. It's terrible to be disappointed in something you've built up in your mind, but in some ways it's worse to be vindicated, to have the place you've exalted actually be just as amazing as you pictured. Because now all I want to do is move there. Immediately. I'm talking about Chicago, but it could just as well apply to Paris, actually.

So I'm crossing it off my list.

72. Live in Chicago.

I've done it. I've lived right in the middle of Chicago, with Millennium Park as my backyard and the Art Institute and Symphony Center right down the block. I've ridden the El and the Metra to the neighborhoods and the suburbs. I've eaten deep-dish pizza more times than I'd like to admit. I've seen theater both big and small. I've complained about the winter and crowed about the fall. I've walked the Magnificent Mile and been to the top of the Sears Willis Tower and had cocktails at the top of the Hancock Building and taken an architectural boat cruise and eaten funnel cakes at Navy Pier. I've lived in Chicago.

And, like the best items on my list, now that I've crossed it off, all I want is to do it again.

My kind of town, Chicago is.